


And So The Spindle Turns

by Anonymous



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Family Bonding, M/M, Mind Games, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Pre-Thor (2011)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 12:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13613052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A story about family, predictability, and never having enough time.Or, a story about how you can spin more than just thread.





	And So The Spindle Turns

**Author's Note:**

> With special thanks to some kind anonymous people.

"Let me see."  
  
Mutely, Loki held still as his mother raised his chin with one hand and brushed his hair aside with the other, even though it wasn't in the way. She stared intently at his throbbing eye.  
  
"It should be fine," she declared, stroking his hair before letting go and standing up. "It'll fade on its own in a few days, but we can go to the healers if it bothers you."  
  
He shook his head. A black eye was almost a badge of bravery, at least as long as word didn't get out on exactly how he had received it.  
  
"Fine." Mother folded her arms. "Now then, why were the two of you fighting?"  
  
Loki focused his eyes on the leg of a nearby table. "Ask Thor."  
  
"I did. He said you sneaked up on him from behind and hit him with a tree branch."  
  
Loki suppressed a sigh. Mother wouldn't slap him on the side of his head like Father had when he had found them rolling in the corridor trying to poke each other's eyes out, but the disappointment on her face was almost worse. "It wasn't really a branch. More like a twig."  
  
"It's no longer a twig when it's as tall as you are, and you're dodging the question. Why did you do it?"  
  
Loki looked for a fresh thing to focus his eyes on. They were in Mother's rooms, with early afternoon sunlight filtering in from the windowed alcove, making all the furniture look brighter than they really were. Of all the rooms in the palace, these whispered _home_ the loudest.  
  
He decided on the engraved bench by the opposite wall and stared at it as he said: "Because I can't beat him otherwise. He's bigger."  
  
A sudden smile ghosted on Mother's lips. "Well, he is the eldest."  
  
A completely unfair advantage as far as Loki was concerned. Thor was only barely older, anyway. "That doesn't mean he should always get to win. When he beats me up everyone says he'll be a mighty warrior, but when I try to get even, they get mad at me."  
  
"You know it's because you don't fight fairly. You would be cross too if someone disguised themselves as a squirrel and dropped on your back from a tree."  
  
Loki lowered his head to hide his smile. That had been one of his better efforts.  
  
"You still haven't answered me. Had Thor done something to upset you? Or was it just to get even, like you said now?"  
  
He held his mouth firmly shut. He was old enough to know that no matter what, nothing good could come from explaining that lately, everything about Thor made him want to throw something at him. That he hated the way Father looked at Thor with such obvious pride, and the way other children flocked around him like he was already the King of Asgard. That he hated how quickly Thor always struck back, clearly hating him just as much in turn, and that he feared he was doomed if he didn't get stronger and fast. No matter how kindly Mother was speaking to him, no matter how soothing her voice and how concerned her eyes, he could say nothing truthful that wouldn't break her heart.  
  
The silence stretched on for what felt like a year until Mother finally gave up and with a sigh, turned away. "You will apologize to him."  
  
He had seen this coming. "Fine."  
  
"Properly, I mean. Preferably now."  
  
"Now?" By now, Thor was likely on the training grounds, and he wouldn't be alone. Pretending to be sorry was already like pulling teeth, but with his brother's stupid friends sneering at him all the while...  
  
Mother seemed to understand his distress, as the lines around her eyes softened to her usual gentle gaze. "Fine, not right now. But only on the condition you sort things out before dinnertime."  
  
Even knowing she was unlikely to forget about it and would stand watch to guarantee he actually did it, it was the best deal he was going to get. "Okay."  
  
Mother smiled. "Good. Off you go, then."  
  
Loki nodded, then began to hesitate. "I don't actually have anything to do right now." Or anywhere to go, or anyone to see, or a better way to hint he wanted to stay with her without outright asking.  
  
In a worse mood, Mother might have told him to go play anyway. Instead, she sighed, but it wasn't the kind of exasperated sigh Father was so good at. Just a small sound that meant she understood. "I have some work to do, but you can stay if you wish."  
  
Loki tried not to smile too widely as he followed her footsteps to the bench he had stared at earlier, the one she usually sat on when she had time to herself in the afternoon for the best possible light. He seated himself to her left and looked on as she picked up her distaff where she had left it. He wasn't sure what the fiber was — flax, maybe? Certainly not wool — but she had tied it in place with green ribbons the color of fresh grass.  
  
With practiced ease, Mother tucked the distaff under her arm and picked up a spindle, which Loki vaguely recognized from the runes etched on its weight as the one he had once played with when he had been younger, twirling it like a top before Mother had hurriedly snatched it away.  
  
She glanced at him, then raised the spindle so he had a perfect view of it. "Do you remember what this part is called?" she asked, tapping at the weight.  
  
"A whorl." He'd rather have been quizzed on different kinds of illusions, but the pleased smile on Mother's face was like sunlight regardless.  
  
She laid the spindle on her lap and, after wettening her fingers, spun the first several inches of yarn with just her hands.  
  
Though he had seen it many times before, Loki watched intently as she took the spindle and tied and twisted the yarn around it. Her fingers moved with such grace and ease, almost like they had a will of their own, exactly like when she worked magic. She then began to spin, turning the spindle like it was an extension of her hand even though she only held it between two fingers.  
  
Neither of them said anything as she repeatedly spun her arm's length of yarn, then worked it onto the shaft with same efficiency she had tied the — Loki frowned as he tried to remember the term — leader around it. There didn't seem to be a need or even room for words.  
  
That was, until Mother turned towards him. "Would you like to try?"  
  
He blinked, and before he could decide how to respond, Mother was already holding the spindle towards him. It seemed easier to accept it and wait as she carefully transferred the distaff to him, guiding his finger to where he was meant to hold the fiber before letting go.  
  
For a moment, he sat like a statue, staring at the spindle and the length of thread before him. Women's work, Father would call it, and give him one of those withering looks that made him at once wish to disappear and to strike someone.  
  
Even so... He raised his thumb and index finger to the top of the spindle's shaft, mimicking Mother as best he could, and gave it a tentative spin. The spindle moved, then came to a jerky halt as he paused to readjust his fingers. He might have created some yarn, but it was hard to tell.  
  
Based on Mother's encouraging smile, he at least had the right idea.  
  
Emboldened, he kept spinning, awkward though it felt. The amount of yarn was definitely increasing now; he had to move the spindle further away from himself to keep the thread taut.  
  
"You should twist it a little more."  
  
The spindle, or the thread? He attempted both at once. Immediately, the spindle slipped from his grasp and fell through his fingers, dropping onto his knee with a soft thud.  
  
Mother gave him a small smile. "That happens."  
  
Loki snorted and picked the spindle up. At least the thread was still connected to the distaff, if only barely. He wettened his fingers and rolled more flax into it. Doing it was very different from seeing it, but he thought he managed a decent start, and so began anew.  
  
Almost immediately, Mother placed her hand over his on the spindle. "That's the wrong direction, Loki."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You were spinning away from yourself before, and now you're doing it towards you."  
  
Loki said nothing as she took the spindle and unfurled the yarn, then handed it back to him. With a sigh, he began to twist again, much harder than before.  
  
"Loki, that might be—"  
  
With a sudden snap, the thread broke. The spindle fell from his fingers once more, this time falling on Mother's lap.  
  
She picked it up as he stared at the broken thread hanging loosely from the distaff. "It's fine. We can fix it."  
  
Loki shook his head and extracted the distaff from under his arm. "I don't care. It's boring."  
  
Mother sighed again, but took the distaff back all the same. He sank against the back of bench and looked on with dull eyes as she set to correcting his mistakes.  
  
She was the first to speak again, while still tweaking the yarn. "Spinning is something that becomes easier the more you practice it. Just like magic."  
  
"Magic's more fun."  
  
"Not everyone thinks so. Your father used to consider it just as dull as spinning back when he sat with me during the afternoons."  
  
"He did that?"  
  
"When we were newly wed, yes."  
  
Loki tried to picture it; Father sitting where he sat now, in full armor with his hands crossed on his lap, watching as Mother spun just as she did now. In his thoughts she wore the same fond smile as she did now, and also the same dress: even knowing she must have looked different back then, he couldn't actually imagine it.  
  
"Did he ever try it?" he asked, still half in his thoughts.  
  
"Spinning, or magic?"  
  
"Spinning." The image of the All-Father struggling with a spindle helped sweeten his sour mood.  
  
"No, never."  
  
Silence returned. For a moment, Loki basked in the sunlight as Mother returned to spinning proper. Slowly, he began to lean against her arm, then lay himself down on the bench and placed his head on her lap.  
  
"Careful, now. You're in the way." Despite her words, Mother raised her distaff-bearing arm to make room for him. Her sleeve brushed against his shoulder, an oddly soothing feeling. His eyes drifted shut.  
  
"When I married your father, he was still mostly known as a great warlord."  
  
Loki opened his eyes up, puzzled. What did that have to do with anything?  
  
"He was wise back then, too, but he used his wisdom from warfare, not statecraft." Mother's eyes were on the thread as she twisted more of it onto the shaft. "He had his people's respect, but not their love. Mere strength never grants you that."  
  
She fell silent for a moment to add more fiber to the thread, then continued. "He always treated me with courtesy, but it was clear to everyone it didn't come to him naturally. I loved him, of course, but you could say he was... unpolished."  
  
Loki blinked. This seemed like the kind of thing Mother would only speak of with other grown-ups, if even them. He was being let in on a secret.  
  
"With time, he became as deft around the negotiation table as he was on the battlefield. "With time," she continued, with the same soft voice she had used to tell bedtime stories when Loki had been very young, "Wise words came to him as readily as the spear to his hand. His people came to love him, as dearly as they love him now."  
  
She paused. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"  
  
No. "Yes."  
  
She gave him a look that saw right through him. "Even a great man can't get very far without heeding the counsel of others. True wisdom is listening to what others have to say, and knowing which advice to take."  
  
An idea blossomed. He racked his mind for a list of his Father's great deeds before his birth.  "When Father brokered peace with Vanaheim, were you there?"  
  
"Yes, of course." Mother continued spinning, smiling at the thread.  
  
"And when Father made that big trade agreement with Nidavellir, you were there?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And when the war with Jotunheim ended?"  
  
"No, that was your father alone. He had my counsel beforehand, but chose his own path." The smile faded, but didn't entirely disappear as she begun to spin faster.  
  
Loki made himself more comfortable and watched as the spindle turned. In the sunlight, the thread gleamed like gossamer.  
  
He must have fallen asleep, for the next time he opened his eye, the light had turned a warm, golden hue. Mother was sitting back with half-hooded eyes, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other loosely holding a spindle full of yarn. The distaff lay discarded on her side, as bare as the plains of Jotunheim, the twin ribbons straightened out next to it.  
  
Mother noticed him stir and opened her eyes. "Are you awake? It's time for dinner, anyhow." She put the spindle aside and began to rise.  
  
Loki clutched at the skirt of her dress, halting her. "No, not yet."  
  
She probably thought he was still drowsy, because she smiled. "We don't always have as much time as we should have."  
  
Then, gently but inexorably, she picked him up and pried his fingers from her skirt. Before he could grasp on again, she stood up, holding out her hand. "Come now. We'll find Thor first."

 

* * *

  
  
"Let me see."  
  
Thor held himself patiently still, only shifting slightly as Loki peeled away the eyepatch and peered at the ruined eye below. He found it easier than expected to stand so unguarded, especially after Loki frowned with no apparent guile.  
  
"It's not the worst I've ever seen," Loki said, carefully replacing the patch, "but then, I've seen the rest of your face."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "That's the insult you're going with?"  
  
Their eyes briefly met as Loki stepped back. "I'd keep it from the sight of any prospective lovers, all the same. You'll have them fleeing before they even have the chance to be repulsed by your personality instead."  
  
Thor chuckled. It was almost like old times. "I'll keep that in mind."  
  
He looked around the cabin. Though the number of Asgardians had dwindled to where all the survivors could fit on the craft, there wasn't much room for privacy. As king and captain, a double responsibility he had never anticipated, he was one of the few to have private quarters, though he didn't anticipate he'd have much time to waste in them. Even now, he was only there to mull over possible options where to go next. Asgard was a people, but Asgard couldn't be forever adrift in space.  
  
The room itself was plainly furnished, with a berth in a corner, and a simple table. Someone had done him the kindness of finding him an extra set of chairs while he had been out. He sat in one of them now, and gestured at Loki to join him.  
  
Instead, Loki folded his arms. "Of course, getting in the way of your love life isn't the only downside of being half blind."  
  
"Father managed just fine."  
  
"Father also had thousands of years of experience fighting with one eye." With that, Loki whipped out a pair of knives so fast Thor wasn't entirely sure where had gotten them from.  
  
With a sigh, he got up. He should have seen this coming — and the sad thing was, he had. He had only hoped it would be after he had had some time to rest, not while his heart was still thrumming after the battle against Hela and her hordes.  
  
He deflected the first blow by swatting at the flat of the knife with his forearm, then repeated the gesture against the follow-up strike to his right side.  
  
From there, it was on. His legs moved with a will of their own as he backed across the room, smacking aside each blow the moment he saw the first glint of a blade. Loki pursued him with ferocity, his expression curiously nonchalant despite the obvious effort.  
  
It was... easy. Almost like they had never stopped sparring together, and could still remember exactly how the other's body moved in relation to their own. A sentiment which only grew more prominent when Thor raised his hand to block a blow before Loki even raised his own, only for Loki to strike against it regardless.  
  
Loki appeared to have noticed the same thing. He took a step backwards, his brow furrowing, casually playing with the knife that had most recently failed to strike a blow. After a moment's pause, he tried a lunge, twisting his body to aim at Thor's blinded side. Thor blocked it without thinking, then raised his left hand palm up to receive the follow-up attack, which struck it a heartbeat later.  
  
He looked down to see it was Loki's fist against his hand rather than the knife, holding the blade sideways and pointed away from Thor.  
  
It was good to have proof that for once, his brother wasn't actually trying to kill him.  
  
Loki withdrew and raised the blades. Thor kept his guard up, responding to the following few lazy attacks entirely by instinct. If it had been sparring before, now it was like feeble pretend fighting between two tired children.  
  
As his attacks grew even easier to anticipate and less likely to connect, a look of dissatisfaction rose to Loki's face. Finally, he let his hands drop and took a circling step away from Thor's direct line of vision.  
  
"Looks like you've already adjusted."  
  
As soon as the last word left his mouth, he dashed forward. Thor had anticipated this, too: he side-stepped to the left and snatched Loki's arm as it struck empty air.  
  
He grinned. "I almost miss the hair more."  
  
A ghost of a smile flickered on Loki's face, and he pulled himself effortlessly free the moment Thor loosened his grasp. He sheathed his blades, then took a step back towards the table the very same moment Thor stepped towards it, too.  
  
They sat down, allowing each other a moment of respite. Thor rested heavily against the back of his chair. The impromptu duel had been enjoyable, even comforting. For a moment, it had taken him back a time when Father and Mother still lived, life was simple, and Asgard stood proud among the nine realms.  
  
He shook his head, Hela's words drifting back to his mind, then stopped abruptly after remembering he wasn't alone. Loki wasn't paying attention to him, however. He had placed both his elbows on the table, leaning his head against one hand while twirling the thumb and index finger of the other, as if he was constantly turning an invisible dagger.  
  
Thor frowned. "What are you doing?"  
  
Loki let his hand drop. "Did you ever sit with Mother in the afternoon?"  
  
Where was this coming from? "No."  
  
"I suppose I would have known."  
  
Again, Thor was taken back to simpler times, but he didn't allow himself to dwell in them. Whatever Loki's aim was in trying to resurrect his childhood memories, now wasn't the time. Too much had changed. "Good thing no-one walked in on you trying to stab their king."  
  
"Most assassination victims don't grin while the stabbing is in process. Besides, I—"  
  
"Locked the door when you came in," Thor finished the sentence, their voices briefly in unison until Loki fell silent, leaving him to finish the sentence alone. He hadn't realized he had been smiling during the fight, and tried not to do so now.  
  
Again, the look of dissatisfaction returned, accompanied by a deep frown. "Do you also know what I'm about to to do next?"  
  
Thor shrugged. "Right now, or later today? Who knows?" In truth, he was no longer entirely sure what Loki was planning, only that it was likely intended to gall him. A time might come, almost certainly would come, when he would betray him again. The best he could hope for was that it would take some time.  
  
Still. As long as it was just the two of them alone in the room, he could trust him.  
  
He looked up. "Thank you. For earlier."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For defending our people."  
  
Loki's eyes flashed at the word _our_. "You already thanked me."  
  
"What you did is worth more than one thank you." He smiled. "Maybe even a statue."  
  
Loki made no response. He leaned more heavily against his arm, tilting his head sideways.  
  
Then, like a flash of thunder, he was back on his feet, a knife in his hand, and aiming another strike at Thor's head.  
  
Instinctively, Thor raised his arm, but the attack was aimed at his eyeless side, and though he stopped it, its momentum was such it slammed his hand against his head.  
  
Something clattered to the ground, but not with the metallic sound he had expected. He glimpsed downwards and saw no sign of the weapon, then focused his attention back on Loki before he came up with anything else dangerous.  
  
His concern was unfounded. Loki stood frozen where his attack had been halted, leaning against Thor's arm, their wrists against one another's. If he was disappointed, he hid it well; when he met Thor's eyes, the look he gave him was one of curiosity.  
  
"So it does hold you back." Curiosity gave way to mischief. "I wonder how much."  
  
Thor pushed his arm forward, moving Loki's with it, while simultaneously bracing his other arm for the inevitable follow-up strike.  
  
Only, it never came. Instead, Loki leaned further in, until the bulk of his weight rested on Thor and the chair. He finally twisted his arm free, only to place his hand back on Thor's face, brushing the cheek under the eyepatch.  
  
Before Thor had time to voice his surprise or else swat the hand away, Loki leaned closer still and placed his lips on his.  
  
The kiss was brief, and so tender he went at one from confused to utterly flummoxed. If he had ever imagined a moment like this before, in his darkest and most private moments just before drifting to sleep, it had been bloody and violent, with constant snarling and fighting for dominance. Not soft, loving, and completely silent but for the blood thrumming in his ears.  
  
It was over before he had time to respond, to even react from the shock that had frozen his veins the moment their lips touched. Loki leaned back, once again studying his expression.  
  
He gave him a small, satisfied smile.  
  
Thor only had one response. He leaned forward in turn, landing his right hand on Loki's shoulder to steady them both, burying his left in Loki's hair, then kissing him back.  
  
Under his lips, Loki turned rigid. For several moments, he neither pushed in nor pulled away, and when he finally moved, it was to grab onto Thor wrist and squeeze, with force just short of painful. However, as soon as Thor decided the gesture was the same as saying no and pulled away to break the kiss, Loki leaned in and deepened it instead.  
  
It ended after a small eternity, with both of them moving away in almost perfect synchronicity.  
   
Thor swallowed, his breath shallow. A strange warmth spread across his neck and rose upwards until it enveloped his mind. Loki was staring at him with eyes as wide as he had ever seen them, flustered and unguarded.  
  
A silent tension fell between them as neither moved. Thor was suddenly acutely aware of Loki's knee pushing against his thigh, his shoulder under his palm, the gentle rise and fall of his chest that seemed to mirror Thor's own breathing exactly...  
  
It broke as Loki's eyes narrowed, followed by a sigh of irritation. "You couldn't let me have this one thing."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You were supposed to be stunned, of course. I'm your brother, aren't I?"  
  
Thor considered this for a moment. "Adopted, as you recently pointed out."  
  
"That's beside the point. Here you are, confident you can play this game despite spending all those years smashing pints against your forehead while I was busy learning it, and instead of acting like any normal person would when their brother kisses them, you go, 'oh yes, very good, let's have some more of that', almost as if," his glare went from doubting to knowing, "the idea had occurred to you before."  
  
The false, simpering voice he adopted when speaking Thor's supposed lines was extremely unflattering. It was so petty that despite everything, Thor felt like laughing. "If it helps, you did surprise me."  
  
That appeared to mollify Loki somewhat. His shoulders relaxed, and he even raised his hand to brush his fingers across Thor's upper chest. "You never guessed?"  
  
He knew he shouldn't trust Loki's apparent sincerity, or anything but his malice, but he felt a heady rush regardless. "Did you?"  
  
Loki smiled again, but it faded fast. He splayed his hand on Thor's chest and used it to push himself back on his feet. The next thing Thor knew, he was sauntering towards the door.  
  
He was rising before he thought better of it and stopped, half sitting, half standing. "Wait."  
  
Loki turned his head. "Are you that eager to go further?"  
  
Thor's throat felt dry as he sat back down. "That's not what I meant." At least, it hadn't been before Loki brought it up.  
  
Again, this elicited a smirk from Loki, one that survived only a fraction longer than the previous one. "Whatever it is, we should have some time for it later." He averted his gaze. "Though likely not much."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
There was a pause. "That we can't remain here forever. What else?" He turned back to the door. "Speaking of which, I believe you need to decide on our course of action, King of Asgard." The last bit was delivered in an even tone, any potential residue bitterness carefully masked.  
  
"Of course." He had all but come to a decision already, one he knew was unlikely to thrill Loki. "I'll meet you at the helm in a moment."  
  
Loki gave him one last raise of the eyebrow that could have meant just about anything, then punched at the lock pad and stepped outside as soon as the door slid open.  
  
The moment it slid back shut, Thor leaned back with a groan and slapped his hand against his temple. Every moment, he was more willing to allow himself to believe everything after Muspelheim was nothing more than a bizarre fever dream.  
  
Yet, at the same time, he felt a strange elation, similar to sunlight, which he had thought had abandoned him for good. How long he could except the warm feeling to last before something gave was another thing, but until then...  
  
Distantly, he realized Loki hadn't picked up the knife he had dropped earlier, and bent down to look for it. The foreign object had rolled under his chair, and so he picked it up.  
  
He dangled it at his eye level, squinting at it, half expecting it to turn into a weapon as soon as he blinked. It remained what it was: a simple, battered spindle, with runes etched around the widest part.  
  
He let his hand drop and stared at the closed door.


End file.
